


9 PM

by DeanOh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Destiel Artists United, Dominant!Castiel, Hand Feeding, Impact Play, M/M, Secret Santa, Sex, Smut, Submissive!Dean, dau, dean sorta owns a coffee shop, hand feeding kink, mutual orgasms, sorta??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 05:30:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13206993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanOh/pseuds/DeanOh
Summary: “I’ve seen you work, I know how long it takes you to make a cup of coffee. I just wanted to see if you’d hurry.”Dean looks at him, biting his lip.“You want me to punish you,” Castiel continues, raising his eyebrows.Dean’s silent for a single second. “Maybe.”~*~Dean's late for an appointment with Castiel, which of course, ends in a very pleasant punishment :)A DAU Secret Santa!





	9 PM

**Author's Note:**

  * For [destimushi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destimushi/gifts).



> What a wild ride this was! I got Destimushi for my DAU Secret Santa, and I really hope I did justice to your sort-of prompts, haha. You're amazing, happy holidays! It was my first time ever writing anything of this nature, but alas, I had a lot of fun. You've awoken something in me, Desti. Just like you did with the fucking pumpkin ravioli.

Charlie Bradbury loves her job; she loves opening up the little Winchester coffee shop every morning, loves talking to customers, making coffee, listening to the ever-changing playlist of music echoing throughout the small area with five tables, and the crap-ton of weird posters hanging on the walls. Dean Winchester telling shit customers off has got to be on the top of her list.

This guy comes in, right before their closing time. This scruffy looking man with a suit and a trench coat, with a frown on his admittedly handsome face. Charlie swears she’s seen him here before, but never this late. Dean’s cleaning the tables as the man comes up to the counter, stares Charlie down, and says in a low, gravel-like voice, “I’d really like to order a triple-espresso, a latte with almond milk, two of your finest pies, and cookies on the side.”

Charlie stares back at him, in awe. She’s already cleaned the goddamn coffee machine, closed the register, and covered the pie stand.

“I’ve already closed the cash register,” she manages out.

His eyes narrow, head tilting in a confused manner. “Can I see the manager?”

Charlie glances at Dean, wildly confused and slightly threatened. “Dean?”

Dean’s already watching the customer with one of those smiles he has reserved for people he truly fucking hates. Dropping the dirty cloth almost forcefully, he comes over and joins Charlie behind the counter, leaning on it for better roasting access. Oh boy. Charlie’s going to love this.

“I’m the manager,” he says with the pettiest smile Charlie’s ever witnessed. “How can I help you?”

“I’d like to order –“

“Yeah, I heard.”

The man’s poker face is made of stone. “Would you mind making the coffee? I’m in a hurry. I’ve got an appointment at 9 PM.”

 _No shit_ , Charlie thinks.

What happens next baffles her to the point of her dropping her jaw on the ground, because Dean does just that. He fucking opens up the register. Starts making the coffee. And _orders her to get the pies out, along with the fucking cookies._

Charlie wants to protest, she really does, but how can she say no to her boss and best friend? All the while, the man waits, drumming his fingers on the counter. The rhythm is almost taunting, deliberately annoying the shit out of both Dean and Charlie. And yet. Dean keeps doing everything that he can to make the coffees perfect. Once he’s done, he puts everything neatly in a bag, rings it up, and gives the bag full of goodies to the man in the trench coat. Charlie’s still shell-shocked.

It’s almost 9. So Dean gives him this shit-eating grin, the one that usually means the customer is about to get thrown out of the coffee shop, and simply says, “Enjoy your goddamn coffee.”

“Oh, I will,” the man says, leaves them a generous tip, and goes.

Charlie is about to scold Dean, but he’s already taking his apron off, and jumping over the counter.

“Dean?”

“Oh yeah,” he says, stopping in his tracks, “I’m gonna pay you for cleaning up after-hours, alright? I gotta go. Close up shop for me.”

“Wait!” Charlie says, watching this antsy version of Dean Winchester she’s seen like twice in her time working here. “What was that about? I thought you were _this_ close to ripping his throat out. Why’d you make him coffee?”

“Believe me,” he says, throwing his leather jacket on, and grabbing his backpack. “I’m gonna make him pay.”

“You know him?”

Dean’s already half out the door, not listening to her. She sighs, frustrated, and gets to work. She’ll ask him tomorrow. What’s gotten into him?

***

Dean lives on the other side of the road, in an apartment building filled with artists and other weirdos who live off of his coffee daily. It’s affordable, cozy, and best of all – close to work. He loves his job, and his employees, but what he doesn’t love is Castiel fucking up their arrangement for his own benefit. Two minutes after 9, Dean barges in through his own door, drops his backpack and instantly goes to the living room, where Castiel sips on his almond milk latte, acting all innocent.

“You’re late,” is all he says.

“And it’s my fault?” Dean says, with his hands on his hips, staring down Castiel from above. “We didn’t agree on you sabotaging my schedule.”

Castiel clicks his tongue, and taps the ground with his foot, right next to him and the table. Despite the anger bubbling inside of Dean, he kneels, then sits down on his heels, straight back as an arrow, presenting himself with ease and comfort. Castiel hums his approval, brushing Dean’s hair with his nimble fingers. “Safeword?”

“Impala.”

“Good boy. I’m inclined to believe you were stalling when you were making my coffee.”

“I wasn’t –“

“You were,” Castiel interrupts him, his playful mood evident. “I’ve seen you work, I know how long it takes you to make a cup of coffee. I just wanted to see if you’d hurry.”

Dean looks at him, biting his lip.

“You _want_ me to punish you,” Castiel continues, raising his eyebrows.

Dean’s silent for a single second. “Maybe.”

Castiel’s blue eyes are absolutely wonderful in the dim lighting of Dean’s apartment. As Dean’s headspace unravels, changes and morphs into the beautiful dance of submission, Castiel breathes in sharply through his nose, slowly moving his hand to the pie on the plate, conveniently cut up into small pieces. Dean realizes Castiel planned this as much as Dean stalled the fucking coffee making. Castiel doesn’t punish Dean enough, and Dean really, _really_ misses Castiel’s rough fingers coming down on his skin, leaving red marks all over his ass. Getting ahead of himself already.

“Are you hungry, Dean?” Castiel asks, picking up a piece of that amazing blueberry pie Dean made from scratch.

Dean watches Castiel’s fingers, craves the feeling of them on his tongue, and nods. The first bite of the pie comes dangerously close to orgasmic, and Dean wraps his lips around Castiel’s touch, flicks the tip of his tongue touching the pads of Castiel’s fingers, enjoying the sweet aftertaste of the pie on Castiel’s skin. Castiel’s look is almost predatory, eyes wide and mouth slack, his breathing erratic. The fuzzy softness of Dean’s mind purrs at the thought of Castiel _wanting_ him this much. It’s always been overwhelming seeing Castiel thirst for him so clearly. Pleasure runs down Dean’s spine in pulses, heat travels up his chest and face, makes him reel when Castiel feeds him the second bite, this time letting his fingers linger on his lower lip. Dean meets Castiel’s eyes as he chews the piece, sucks on Castiel’s fingers and moans a low, satisfied sound.

It’s simple, letting Castiel take over. What started as a simple tryst, happened to grow into mutual trust, and, surprisingly, the healthiest relationship Dean’s ever been in. Castiel’s a very giving person, makes Dean laugh, brings Dean on dumb movie-dates, and fucks him senseless. Dean’s halfway through a slice, when Castiel leans in and kisses him, tasting the pie with his own tongue.

Dean whines when Castiel pulls away.

“Would you please be a good boy and take your clothes off?”

Dean finds himself working on taking his heap of shirts off, laying them near the couch in a neat pile. Once he’s done with his jeans as well, he’s flushed, hard as a rock, and ready for whatever Castiel’s got planned for him. He _aches_ for Castiel’s touch, wants Castiel to claim him right here and now, but knows he’s got it coming. Once Castiel gets comfortable on the couch, tapping his lap, Dean’s almost busting with the knowledge of what’s about to happen to him. Dean lays on top of Castiel’s lap, his cock trapped in between, the friction almost unbearable against Dean’s oversensitive skin. Castiel’s just as hard underneath his slacks, much to Dean’s amusement.

With an exploring touch, Castiel places his fingers on Dean’s ass, deliberately kneading to build up some tension. “For being fashionably late, you deserve some spanking, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean says, hips bucking. He’s leaking onto Castiel’s pants, breath coming in short. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, _are_ you? For what?”

The first hit comes unexpectedly, and Dean lets out a deep moan, hips working in small circles. Castiel doesn’t seem to mind. “For – ah – taking my time to make your coffee, sir.”

Another comes down, with Castiel’s fingers splayed on Dean’s ass, rubbing a little in order to dull the quick pain. Dean braces himself on his elbows, breathing in deeply. Castiel hums his approval, watching the red spread on Dean’s skin. “And?”

Dean mumbles underneath his breath, which earns him a hit so well thought-out, that Dean’s seeing stars. It’s a wonderful feeling, giving up your trust to a person who knows you bone-deep.

“I didn’t hear you,” Castiel coos, lightly tapping his fingers on Dean’s skin. Just like he did on the counter. The deliberate, mind-blowing tap, the clear sign that Castiel’s enjoying himself. Dean’s trying so hard not to come untouched, just from the knowledge that Castiel loves Dean like this.

“For being late,” Dean manages out, with Castiel landing another amazing hit, shaking Dean to the core. The pain subsides too quick for his liking, makes Dean want to beg for more.

It goes on for a while. Castiel times his blows with perfect precision, knowing all too well when Dean’s not expecting them. And only when Dean’s a sensitive mess, Castiel leans in and places a kiss on Dean’s backside, making Dean shiver. “You’re perfect. You’re absolutely _perfect_.”

He lets Dean maneuver himself on top of Castiel, both knees on each side of Castiel’s powerful thighs. Castiel kisses him like a hungry man, drawing out every little sound out of Dean with his traveling touches. Dean _loves_ how he’s still dressed impeccably, with Dean writhing in Castiel’s arms, naked. Dean cradles Castiel’s face, kissing him senseless, as Castiel swiftly undoes his slacks, drags his own hard cock out, and takes them both in hand, dragging his grip upwards, deliciously slow.

“ _Cas. Cas, Cas, Cas_ ,” Dean chants, fitting his forehead to Castiel’s, staring right into those blue eyes. “Fuck, you feel _so good_.”

Castiel bites Dean’s shoulder playfully, licking over it. Dean moves in tandem with Castiel’s hand, hands braced on the couch. Castiel watches him come undone, breathes harshly with every move Dean makes. It’s blissfully good when Dean feels pleasure building up, making his moves erratic, downright animalistic.

“Come for me,” Castiel murmurs into Dean’s mouth, watching Dean’s face.

With a furrowed brow, his mouth open, Dean’s muscles clench with the need to let go, and he does. All over them both, with Castiel’s hand still moving, drawing the feeling out. Dean almost blacks out before he feels Castiel follow. He catches Castiel’s intense stare as he comes, then those blue eyes hide behind Castiel’s eyelids, the intense rush of pure desire and fulfillment coursing through Castiel.

As they come down from their high, Dean breathes deeply, letting out a short laugh. He still feels the flavor of blueberry pie in his mouth.

“I should disobey more often,” Dean says, kissing Castiel once, then twice.

Castiel follows Dean’s lips as Dean leans back to see the blissed out expression on Castiel’s face. Castiel still doesn’t open his eyes when he says, “You should. I quite enjoyed this.”

Dean smiles, peppering Castiel with kisses all over his face. “Stay over. My bed’s been lonely these days.”

Only then do Castiel’s eyes open, and a smile tugs at his lips. “Do you have work tomorrow?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m the fucking boss. I can come in late.”

Castiel kisses Dean’s jaw. “Then is this an open invitation for me to do whatever I want to you tonight?”

“Yes,” Dean says, smiling so wide it hurts. “But we gotta order pizza. I’m starving.”

“Okay,” Castiel says, grinning back. “Okay.”

 Dean's really happy with his decision to stall a coffee order.

 

 


End file.
